


No Man's Wife

by Vermilion_Sunrise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complete, Escape, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fucking, Fun, Oral Sex, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-07 14:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14083347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermilion_Sunrise/pseuds/Vermilion_Sunrise
Summary: Westerosi A/U SanSan: Having escaped King's Landing with Lord Baelish, Sansa takes up her alter ego of Alayne Stone. Living with her father in a Dornish brothel, Alayne dreams of freedom from her father's plotting and manipulation. When the Hound stumbles his way into this brothel a clandestine meeting may be her best means of escape.This is a light one for fun. It's a bit of Porn with Plot. I like to get to the point, what can I say?





	1. No Man's Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief introduction to Sansa's current situation while on the run from the Lannisters with Lord Baelish.

#  Chapter 1: No Man’s Wife

 

##  Alayne

 

Most nights the door to Alayne’s bedroom would creak open, a faint bit of light streaming in from the hall freezing her in place. She knew better than to move or even alter her breathing when it happened, for she didn’t want her father to know she was aware of his presence. Sometimes Lord Baelish would merely lean against the doorframe, the sound of his silk tunic rubbing against the rough frame unmistakably as he watched her sleep. Other times, like tonight, he would step further into her room shutting the door quietly behind him. Her heart would beat harder then, making Alayne fear he might hear it through her chest. She would swallow quietly, attempting to replenshish moistness to a throat gone suddenly dry. Some moments would pass, then she would hear the slipping of silk on his fine Dornish dressing gown, the garment moving and shifting as he reached between his legs. Inevitably his breath would get louder and more labored as the sound of his hand moving over his manhood intensified. On the nights when her back was to him, Alanye would squeeze her eyes tightly shut hoping that this night would not be the night he took his fantasies further. Willing him to stay away from her bed and away from her person, Alayne would try to take her mind to another place, blocking him out completely. Once his peak came, it would be followed by some grunting and a sigh akin to relief before her door would open and he would leave her there, feeling more alone than ever.

 

This night, Alayne waited longer than necessary for her father to return to his private chambers before she pushed off her covers in frustration and went to her window. He had fallen back on what he knew made money and invested in a high end brothel situated on a hill. It was a beautiful place where he could provide her many beautiful things, but Alayne was slowly growing tired of this life. She was also growing tired of his advances. 

 

It had been three years since she had fled King’s Landing with Lord Baelish. Then she had been known by another name, her true name, Sansa Stark. Alayne shook her head at the thought of how young and foolish she had been then. She was a child of the summer, brought up on fairy tales of love, morality and honor. So ill prepared for life, so ill prepared for every single thing that would come, that it made her sick to think of it. Dorne was safe for them, beyond the reach of Cersei Lannister and her agents, close to the free cities should they need to flee. It had been a good place to hide where, nobody knew them and nobody cared to know them.

 

She put a hand on her wooden mashrabiya bedroom window overlooking Planky Town, above the brothel, and looked to the sea. The heavy saltiness of the sea entered her nostrils, a light breeze moved her hair.  It was late in the night, the moon still high in the sky illuminating the town and beyond for her to see. Though a part of her had grown to love Dorne, she knew it was not her home. Though part of her had grown to love Lord Baelish, he was not her father and certainly not her lover. Perhaps she would have wed him soon after they fled had he asked her. Sansa was so scared and so ill prepared to survive in the world, she would have done anything to stay alive. Alayne, on the other hand, had grown into a vibrant young woman since then, capable of many things, particularly plotting her own escape.

 

_ ‘What a difference even a day can make.’  _ she thought to herself. 

 

These three years had seen her change more than she could have imagined. Using the Dornish henna to dye her hair almost black was one of the most obvious differences, but there were many more. She had grown to a tall and well formed 5 foot 9 inches, her breasts and hips forming sizable curves where there had been none before. Her black hair, deep blue eyes and white skin attracted all sorts of looks in Dorne. It was her skin and eyes that attracted them mainly. She was very thankful that the true color of her hair was unknown to them, red hair was so rare in Dorne the locals would have been clamoring to touch her, or worse. 

 

Her transformation from a young teenager into a young woman had also drawn unwanted attention from her father. In the beginning, as they lived with her aunt in the Vale, she had been flattered by it, enjoyed his compliments and gentle innocent touches. Though as she got to know him better and her body became more to his liking, he had begun to strain the cover of a father-daughter relationship. Her aunt had noticed it, and it had lead to her death, had caused them to flee the Vale. But her father could not help himself, even now Alayne was certain the employees of the brothel suspected incest between them, but nobody breathed a word. Incest was one of the lesser evils in a brothel, and better to leave the brothel master and his daughter to their own. 

 

Petyr Baelish loved her, of that she had no doubt. Whether Alayne or Sansa, he had coveted her from the moment he had laid eyes on her in King’s Landing. But his love was a poisoned love, leaving a trail of death and destruction in its wake. It was a love that scared her, made her keenly aware that she needed to play his game just right, or she would fall victim to it. So during the day she played along, all the while learning all the life lessons he had to teach her. At night, she tried to rid herself of the pain and anguish of knowing that this was yet another golden cage in which she was imprisoned. Another man who wanted to keep her all to himself. Alayne was biding her time, waiting for the right moment to present itself for escape. This could be in one day or one hundred years, but she was determined to save herself from him.

 

Alayne eyed a figure with a torch, almost a blip on the winding streets of Planky Town making his way home drunk. She knew that her father had plans to marry her to a lord of Westeros, probably a very rich and powerful old one. Upon his untimely death she could take his lands, and move on to the next willing lord. Her name as a Stark, her power over the North would only consolidate more minor houses to her. If played well, her father stood to gain greatly from her through marriage. This was why he had not sullied her. Perhaps even to his credit, Lord Baelish was not interested in a woman’s maidenhood, but in her prowess in the bedroom. Others were not so open minded on this topic and would only marry a young maid. So her father kept her unblemished, while showing her all the sexual delights she could imagine while she helped him run their family business. Alayne knew he meant to take her for himself eventually, whether he would wait for her future husband to die or take her the day after the wedding was a bet she had with herself. 

 

_ ‘A morbid bet. _ ’ she sighed. 

 

Whether she played along with his wishes to marry, or was able to find a way to escape him before the time came, it didn’t really matter. No matter what the future would hold, Alayne Stone would be no man’s wife. 


	2. Daddy's Little Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alayne happens upon some interesting information from her friends working in the brothel.

#  Chapter 2: Daddy’s Little Girl

 

##  Alayne

 

The morning time was Alayne’s favorite time in the brothel. In some ways watching the men and women who worked their go about their mundane morning business was much more intimate than watching the things they did at night. Whether hungover from the night before, cleaning their rooms or just simply talking and laughing with one another Alayne felt comfort in the fact that the house her father ran was a happy one. Though Lord Baelish was aloof at best, she and the people working there were all a tight knit family from the four corners of the world, living, eating and fucking under the same roof. 

 

She always made sure to do the accounting early in the morning, so that her employees would receive their payment in the late morning when most woke up. There were no early starts in a brothel, only late nights that could stretch into early mornings. 

 

_ ‘It’s such a different feeling than being at King’s Landing,’  _ Alayne thought to herself as she walked through the halls and courtyards of the beautiful Dornish estate, gold purses in a basket. 

 

While father was in charge of the quality of his  _ wares _ and enforcing the rules of the house on both patrons and staff, Alayne took it upon herself to give a more friendly touch to their combined managerial style. She was always smiling, hugging, talking and teasing with those under the their employment. So it was no surprise that she walked smiling through the brothel to the greetings, hellos and come hither stares of her friends. Sansa Stark would have never befriended prostitutes, never would have been able to look at the men and women who had sex for money without blushing through her silks. Alayne, on the other hand, walked through the house handing out the salaries to her friends with no judgement. No matter how she found them or who she found them with, she always greeted, smiled and laughed with them. 

 

For those who believed in the Seven, they took to calling Alayne the Maiden. For it was no secret that her father purposely kept her a maid. She had never seen Lord Baelish so angry as when some of the ladies had lured her to their rooms to instruct her on the finer points of feeling womanly pleasure. They were right, there was something about kissing a woman, feeling her soft curves against your skin that excited Alayne’s instinct for sex. The ladies were gentle, approachable and above all, there was no looming fear of being forced into something you were not sure about. The two Dornish girls and one from Pentos had been in the full throws of teaching her about her own sexual anatomy, in the middle of pleasuring her with their hands and mouths. Her dress had been pulled down to her waist, some of the women’s hands up her skirt when her father burst through the door and pulled her away. He questioned them intensely as to whether they had taken her maidenhood by putting something inside of her or not. They had not, they had merely wanted to show her how women could enjoy sex even more than men without penetration, and nothing more. He had docked the girls two days pay and threatened to beat them if they tried something like that again. 

 

Lord Baelish had then admonished her for being so stupid, for if they had seen the fire colored hair between her legs they would have asked questions. It served to frustrate Alayne further. It was as if she lived in a glass box. Seeing everything but not being able to touch or feel anything. She yearned to be free, as free as those around her. Though Alayne knew that could never be, part of her value to her father was not only her trueborn name and lands, but her maidenhood as well. So when the young men of the brothel came to her, gently inquiring about instructing her in the arts of loving men, she had to reluctantly but politely decline. That wouldn’t stop her from teasing them incessantly and flirting with them behind her father’s back. They knew they could not touch her, but, as she had learned in her time there, sometimes anticipation was much more alluring than the act itself. 

 

“How’s my pretty little maid this morning?” Came a booming voice from Alayne’s right side. 

 

It was Erios from the Summer Islands. He was a tall, muscular mountain of a black man, menacing in stature alone, sweet in nature. Above all he was a good man, loved by male and female patrons alike, he was protective and fearless. Once he had heard Magda being beaten by a drunk patron in another room, so he stopped what he was doing, broke the door down and beat the man within an inch of his life. That’s what’ Alayne liked so much about this place, unlike King’s Landing, everybody here looked after one another. It was because the nature of what they did, did not put them in the high esteems of many, so all they could do was cling to one another.

 

Alayne smiled at the broad, tall man, wrapped an arm around his neck and hugged him. “Unfortunately still very much a maid, but otherwise fine.” She smiled and handed him a purse of gold, his payment from the last evening.

 

“Anytime you need me to help you with that…” he trailed off, his smile so big, broad and genuine, you just couldn’t help but smile back in return.

 

“When it does finally happen,” she teased, “I do want to be able to walk afterwards.” Her eyes dropped down to the front of his pants, knowing the size of his most sought after part.  She patted him on the shoulder as he laughed and continued on her way.

 

Alayne made her way past the pool in the courtyard, shielding her eyes from the baking sun already high in the sky. She was on her way to the “Westerosi” part of the brothel. It was always funny to look at these things from the Dornish perspective. Being so close to Essos and so physically different from the rest of Westeros, the Dornish did not see themselves as from Westeros. Rather they were Dornish and everything else on the island was then considered Westeros. So that meant that fair skinned women with blondish hair were often the Dornish idea of a “Westerosi” woman. Exotic, cold and different from the tanned, dark haired women they were used to.

 

She could hear the women chattering already about the night before. “...so he pulled down his trousers and out springs the absolutely biggest cock I ever saw. I mean Stranger take his face, he was the ugliest man I ever seen, but with a piece like that between his legs you could forgive him.”

 

“Another satisfied customer Magda?” Alayne said, smiling at the animated redhead from the Riverlands. Her hair was a lighter red than Sansa Stark’s, almost a strawberry blonde instead of the full bronze color so rare it was even hard to find in the Riverlands themselves. 

 

Magda, Sasha and Daniela were all from the ‘northern part’ of Westeros, meaning above Dorne and not from the free cities. Magda from the Riverlands, Sasha a sweet blonde from Highgarden and Daniella a hearty black haired northern beauty, who could have easily have worked on a farm as in a whore house. The women greeted her with kisses and took their money with smiles on their faces.

 

Then Sasha said, continuing the conversation, “Alayne, perhaps you know this mysterious Westerosi knight from yesterday that Magda is swooning over?” 

 

The girls knew that she and her father had been in King’s Landing and ran a brothel there, so they often asked these kinds of questions about knights and Sers and all sorts of people that    
Sansa had known in the capital but had to pretend not to know now.

 

Alayne cocked her head to the side, “Oh wait, let me guess his name...Ser Fucks-a-lot?”  

 

The women all roared with laughter at her making light of the subject, but the fact that a Westerosi man came into the brothel was always a cause to be alert. Who knew if they were coming in to try to find her or father. So as the women continued on about their night, Alayne listened with veiled concern.

 

“He was probably the biggest man I’ve ever seen, took up the whole door frame.” Daniela began, filling in for Magda. “I greeted him, you know with my usual smile and a kiss...but I gotta say it wasn’t easy lookin’ at that face.”

 

“Oh ugly never bothered you before.” Alayne teased, seeing if she could get more out of the women as to his looks. Big and ugly were not the best descriptors of man one could come up with.

 

Daniela swatted Alayne on shoulder before Magda finally chimed in, “Oh it was gruesome, like some kind of battle wounds. I mean the man was so muscled and so strong he had to be a knight, or a sellsword. But that face, looked half burned off like he’d stuck his face in a torch.”

 

“A face only the Mother could love.” The other two chimed in at the same time, giggling to themselves.

 

Alayne felt her heart beating a little faster, nervousness coursing through her veins. She knew a man that fit this description, she knew him better than they even suspected. Calming herself she remembered, lots of warriors were burned and disfigured from war. Perhaps it was just coincidence.

 

“So then he demands wine and a redhead.” Sasha continued for the women, looking over to  Magda and smiling. Magda made good money, the Dornish liked her fair skin, blue eyes and reddish hair. Father always told her though that Magda’s nightly intake would be peanuts compared to Alayne’s. He would always say that if he let her be a whore with her natural hair, she’d be his best little money maker. If there was one thing Petyr Baelish liked more than his own sweet daughter, it was money. Alayne shuddered at the thought and kept listening.

 

“Sasha comes to get me and warns me about his face. I mean...thank the Seven she did.” Magda continued, “So I take him into the back room and pour him some wine and get to know him a bit better. He literally drank the whole flagon in one go then gave me a look over.” Magda was watching to see if Alayne was listening to her, then her eyes narrowed a bit. “So the weird thing happened next, he told me that he was going to call me Sansa. You know as in Sansa Stark.”

 

Alayne’s eyes flew open in shock, both genuine and for the satisfaction of her story teller. This was not good, not one bit. “But isn’t she dead?” Alayne asked, with a kind of mock shock that had all the women leaning in to hear more of the story. Testing the waters to see what rumors were circulating about her and her father.

 

Magda shook her head, “Don’t know if she’s dead, but if she’s smart she’s hiding for sure.” All the women shook their head in agreement, then Magda continued, “The rest of the night he fucks the bloody Seven hells out of every hole on offer all the while calling me Sansa and making me look at him.”

 

The women giggled, Alayne did her best to follow suit but couldn’t stop her chest from tightening with fear and another emotion she couldn’t quite place. 

 

“I mean...he could have the biggest most perfect cock in the Seven Kingdoms to make me scream bloody murder like that.” Magda had a cheeky grin on her face as she continued, “So once it’s all said and done,” she leaned into the girls and winked, “...many times over. I start to kind of ask some questions, you know kind of see why he’s got such a thing for his Highborn maid.”

 

_ ‘Good thinking, _ ’ Alayne smiled to herself. 

 

“And he says he used to be a guard at the palace in King’s Landing. That he used to watch over Sansa when she was betrothed to the King...that was before she killed the King that is.” It was clear from Magda’s words and from the responses of all the women that they were happy to see an end to Joffrey, particularly at the hands of a woman. For Alayne that was all she needed to hear, she was sure it was the Hound. 

 

The thought of him forced her to relive some of her darker memories from her time in King’s Landing, when she had lived in fear after the execution of her real father, when she had been a captive of the Lannisters. As she thought back on it all, and really tried her best to remember her  interactions with the Hound at the palace, there was as sense that she’d been so naive at the time that she’d missed something between them. 

 

_ ‘He was always near me.’ _ she realized. Whether in the throne room, on the dias at  a tourney or in her own private chambers, he had always been near. ‘ _ He rarely took his eyes off me either…’ _ The realization hit her like lightning.  _ ‘Now he comes here, looking to fulfill his fantasy of me..’ _

 

A hand shook her softly, “Alayne ...hey!” 

 

“Oh I was uh...just trying to remember if I saw anybody like that.” Alayne lied to the women. “But perhaps I need to see him in real life. Is Ser Ugly Face Perfect Cock coming back?” She asked teasingly.

 

Magda smiled broadly, “Well of course he is, should be back in tonight I wager.”  

 

“Good.” Alayne said with a smile, “Then I’ll be sure give him a good look.”

 

“At your own risk.” Daniela cut in, sending the other two ladies into a wild fit of laughter. 

 

Alayne merely smiled. “Father is waiting for me, I’ll see you in a bit.”

 

Handing out the last of the purses, Alayne soon lost herself in thought. It was so clear now she could have slapped herself for not seeing it before, the Hound had loved her. And if Magda’s account was accurate, he probably loved her still. Even as a child in King’s Landing, he’d looked at her the way a man looks at a woman when he has a desire for her. Not a desire for her lands, not for her station, not even for what the women sold here every night - but a desire to be near her and in her presence. 

 

_ ‘I was so stupid not to see it, and too scared of him to care.’  _ She realized. That had been partially Lord Baelish’s doing. He would have noticed the Hound’s attraction to her and drove a wedge immediately between them with his stories of the Hound’s misdeeds. Things young girls like Sansa Stark would have nightmares of. She shook her head, angry she had fallen for her father’s manipulation.

 

Sandor Clegane was the most fierce warrior in the Seven Kingdoms, having left the service of the Lannisters after the Battle of the Blackwater. He had been on the run ever since. 

 

_ ‘Working as a sell sword suites him.’  _ she mused, thinking of the Second Sons as an aptly named possible employer. They needed big strong men here, and he certainly fit the bill. 

 

_ ‘He could be my ally, if he’s not still put off from my rejection.’  _ A smile crept across Alayne’s face.  _ ‘Perhaps even a ticket to freedom if I’m willing to pay the price.’  _

 

The thought of giving herself to him as payment for his protection made her nipples hard and her belly ache. It was an erotic thought to be at his sexual mercy, riding with him through the war torn countryside of her homeland, their bond so strong that they would die for the other. It was a It was a fantasy that she wouldn’t mind playing out, even if just in her mind. Even now Alayne could not say if she loved the man, she only knew one side of him. But you didn’t need to be in love to be drawn to a man. Alayne was interested in him and willing to feel out what his fantasy about her might entail, then use it to her advantage. 

 

_ ‘I must see him tonight.’ _ She was resolute on this point.

 

She snorted at herself before she pushed open the heavy wooden door to her father’s office, acknowledging the fact that she had learned alot from him. There was no doubt in her mind that she was indeed, daddy’s little girl.


	3. Naughty Thoughts for Naughty Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more Baelish creep before we get to the good stuff. We all want to see Sandor enter this story in all his big, muscular hairy-chested glory.....he's coming ;-)

#  Chapter 3: Naughty Thoughts for Naughty Girls

 

##  Alayne

 

Closing the door behind her, Alayne waited in silence for her father to finish the piece of parchment he was working on. He always dressed smartly, wearing the finest silks money could buy and combining them with accessories that gave him a refined look. He was attractive for an older man, of that Alayne was sure. There had been a time when she had tried so hard to love him in that way, to feel something burning inside for him, but there was nothing there. Her desire to love him born from the need to thank him for saving her, to pay him back for the gifts he lavished upon her. Even in the very beginning she had a strange feeling about him, something that grew and matured the more time they spent together traveling Westeros. The culmination of which lead her to be convinced that all the security and gifts in the world could not turn her heart, could not make her happy and contented. Not with him anyway.

 

“Ahh Sweetling.” Lord Baelish moved from his desk to her, giving her a chaste kiss on the lips. Even in his office they must act as father and daughter, only his private chambers were safe. 

 

Alayne embraced him as usual, trying not to pay too much attention to his wandering hands, making their way to her bum.

 

“Did you sleep well father?” She asked, knowing he had been in her room late last night, judging his reaction to see if he suspected she knew what he had done.

 

He had a knowing smile on his face, “One of the best sleeps I’ve had in weeks.”

 

_ ‘I bet it was.’ _ She scowled to herself, knowing he was confident of his stealthy perversions.

 

“Come child, let’s go to the veranda, we have much to discuss.” He pushed her out to the large veranda of his office overlooking the city. 

 

Alayne hated the veranda, for it was always the same with him when they were there. He would order some food, sit on a long Dornish style sofa and bid her lay across his lap so he could look at her breasts, and if he was feeling bold that day touch them. Being the dutiful daughter she always was, Alayne did as she was bid laying across his lap facing him, her back to city, a pillow supporting her weight under the pit of her arm. Her father’s grin was that of a cat, having just caught a tasty little mouse. He moved an idol finger down her neck, pushing her violet Dornish silks out of the way, exposing her cleavage more fully. 

 

“Everyday you look more and more like your mother.” He said to her a far off stare in his eye mixed with a sexual intensity that put her on edge. 

 

Anger welled inside of her as he had the audacity to speak of her true mother, now three years dead. Alayne did her best to swallow this anger though, forcing to the surface the coy stare he so desired. He was testing her, he was always testing her love of him and her loyalty to him. Whatever would come out of his mouth next would not be good, for he always prefaced bad news with a compliment likening her to Caetlin Stark.

 

“I received a raven today, a step closer to closing a good marriage for you.” Lord Baelish smiled smugly. “It seems Roose Bolton is looking for a young bride to give him a trueborn son and the Lannisters are not holding up to their end of the bargain. I must leave tonight.”

 

She knew his eyes were searching her for any sign of rebelliousness, digging deep into her soul to make sure she was still ready to follow his plans. He brought a piece of cheese to her mouth but she waved it away, suddenly not hungry.

 

Alayne put her disgust at the proposed pairing aside, “But he has Winterfell now, doesn’t he?” 

 

She was angry he would marry her to a traitor, to a man who had helped orchestrate the Red Wedding. The man who had killed her family and friends. It was a slap in the face to her the biggest fuck you somebody could do to her. Yet she needed to show him loyalty, particularly now, so as not to make him suspicious of her own plans.

 

Her father’s eyes twinkled in that way they did when he knew he had a good plan unfolding, he rubbed the side of her breast with his thumb, “Ahh Sweetling but he slowly finds he cannot hold it. His bastard is not winning him any favors in the North. Seems he needs a Stark.” 

 

Now it was the time to play with his emotions, to see what is real plans were. Alayne steeled herself, pushing herself up to his face level, her bum in his lap. “But father, I thought it would always be us, who would rule the North together.” She whispered it, using her deep blue eyes and a sligh pout in her voice to lure him in more. She needed to know his plans, needed to know the next step in his plans, often so secretive.

 

He was not able to resist himself, Lord Baelish pulled her into a deep and very unchaste kiss. Alayne hated the taste of his mouth, despised this little game she was required to play, but it seemed to work in her favor. His hand tight to her breast now, his manhood hardening under her bum she knew he would tell her what she needed to know.

 

His breathing more intense he spoke, “Old men die Alayne, never forget that.”

 

True enough, Roose was old enough to be her father, even her grandfather depending on how you looked at it. Lord Baelish kissed her again, more hastily this time, pushing her bum now more firmly over his erection. She had to fight not to throw up a bit in her mouth at his advances. 

 

When he paused to come up for air she replied, “They will call me the black widow of Westeros.” At this he laughed and she joined him, tieing off her sweet deception in a neat little knot. Her father had begun to unlace the front of her dress when the voice of their man servant broke their interaction.

 

“Master, I have the candidates ready.” Lord Baelish craned his neck behind him to see their man servant, annoyed that he had to stop what he was so intently doing. Alayne need only look straight ahead to see their man servant, only a little uncomfortable to see the state in which he had caught them in.

 

_ ‘Ahh yes, we have auditions today. Thank the Seven.’  _ Her father always did enjoy audition day, if they were to pick new members to their patchwork family, it was best to see them in action. At the very least it would focus his sexual attentions somewhere else. She breathed a sigh of relief. 

 

“Bring them in Ambros.” Lord Baelish said with a smile. Alayne righted her dress and sat next to her father, trying to put as much distance between them as she could without arousing any of his suspicions that she may not appreciate his closeness. 

 

Truth be told, he probably would not have noticed if she had sat several feet away from him. Audition day was one of his most cherished and she knew why, she enjoyed it herself. The first group was composed of six women, all from different corners of the world. They were naked of course, their goods on display for the brothel master and his daughter. She and her father were a good team in these instances, he looked at the quality of the goods and she got an impression of the girls as they walked through them together. 

 

It would be a difficult choice, they could only take two but all were striking in their own way. If there was one thing Alayne had learned over her time in the brothel, it was to appreciate female beauty. In King’s Landing women had been egotistical and obsessed with being the most beautiful, because they had nothing else to offer. Prostitutes were the polar opposite, knowing what they had on offer and not shying from it, beautiful or not. The women she shared her house with had helped her appreciate her beauty in a healthy way, while allowing her to see the virtues of different kinds of body sizes and shapes.

Alayne had walked the line of ladies and turned around to see her father still looking over them. Sometimes he would ask them to open the lips of their vagina, so that he could more closely observe their delicate folds. She felt it was demeaning, and it made them like animals and not like women. But she would not argue with him. She sat back down on the couch and ate some fruit while he indulged his desires. After a spirited discussion, they could not decide between three of them, so her father dismissed the other girls and ordered the remaining three to show them their ‘value’.

 

As the girls, one black skinned from the summer islands, one tanned dornish beauty and a light creamy skinned woman from Pentos began to touch and kiss one another on the pillows on the veranda, Lord Baelish came back to the sofa to sit next to his daughter. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed her close to him, keeping his lips close to her ear so they could whisper without fear of being overheard. 

 

“Which ones do you favor Sweetling?” here was a grufness to his voice that came only when he was very much aroused. The hand wrapped around her waist dug into her skirts toward her inner thighs. 

 

Swallowing uncomfortably she responded, “They are all quite beautiful and uninhibited father.” 

 

“Ohh, but you must like one more than the others. You can tell me, my dear there is no shame in it.” She could feel his breath on her neck increasing as the women in front of them began to fuck one another in ernest. It was impossible not to see his excitement through his robes. 

 

“Well the one from Pentos seems to be particularly...giving.” It was true, the woman was licking out the Summer Island girl and fingering fingering the Dornish girl almost to completion. “It seems to be a skill to be so lustful and so...talented.”

 

“Good girl, you are so smart and so perceptive.” Lord Baelish stared into Alayne’s eyes intently. 

 

They were almost nose to nose now, a tension growing that she did not want. Without breaking eye contact with his daughter he spoke, “Ambrose take the Summer Islander and the Pentosi to my chambers, we’ll finish their audition there.”

 

Like that the women were stopped, whether they had made it to completion or not and were pushed off to the side to make way for the men. Her father broke their gaze turning to the nude men who entered the room. Alayne couldn’t suppress the pang between her legs when she saw them walk in, it was instinctual, a sign of how much she wanted to rid herself from the burden of maidenhood. 

 

The men walked out hard and ready, as was common for such auditions. Alayne nearly had to blink twice as the last of the six men came in, he was tall and broad, a Northern man with a hairy chest and long hair. If you had glanced at him one could have mistaken him for the Hound, he was so muscled, and wild looking - just as Alayne remembered him from King’s Landing. Though this man was better looking in the face, with sharp features and deep blue eyes, he missed a certain character that Sandor Clegane had to his face, his body and his movements. 

 

Her father noticed her eyes lingering and pulled her even closer, “The way you look at the northern brute it could break a father’s heart.” 

 

Alayne’s heart was in her throat, she didn’t dare let a bead of sweat show her nervousness, for his question was a loaded one. She tore her eyes from the big man in front of her, turning her eyes to her father, cupping his face in a hand. 

 

“He may sway my eyes father, but he can never have my heart as you do.” She needed to prove to him that she would be loyal, that she wanted him above all others. Even though it was not the case, not anymore. 

 

Lord Baelish’s lips twitched at her words, she wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile openly or kiss her. Then he smirked in that teasing way he often did when he was satisfied with her answers, “Naughty thoughts for naughty girls. What am I going to do with you?”  

 

His words hung thick in the air between them, hinting a dark desires long held, then he kissed her on the cheek and walked over to the men for inspection. Alayne was never allowed to approach the men, her father was in this instance a very jealous man. Only allowing her to mix with the male prostitutes already approved by him. Her eyes flickered back to the northern man and her imagination began to fill in her teenage memories of Sandor Clegane. If he was really as impressive as Magda had described, then he was better than she remembered. Even better than the hulk of a man that stood before her.  

 

She cast her eyes downward when the northern man looked at her and smiled, she blushed like the maid she was and cursed herself for it. In the end Lord Baelish did not choose him, which did not surprise her. He did not want her to be tempted, whether he said it or not. 

 

Once the men were gone, Alayne approached her father. “How long will you be gone father?”

 

“Don’t worry darling, not so long.” His eyes were searching hers, though she knew he would not trust her with the place of her meeting. “It should be no more than five days or so.”

 

“Be careful.” She said, grasping his hand and smiling. 

 

“Oh don’t you worry about me beautiful girl. I’ll be back before you know it.” He kissed her on the cheek and made his exit, undoubtedly going to his chambers for the final audition of the women they had seen earlier.

 

Alayne sighed with relief and sat at his desk. She needed to take a moment to organize her brain and reflect on what she now knew. She would be running the brothel for the next five days in her father’s absence, she would be responsible to make sure the money came in and that order was maintained. If Sandor Clegane came back tonight, she would need to confirm his identity and entice him to return tomorrow, before Lord Baelish caught wind he was in town. A nervous energy ran through her, she needed to act but she needed to be cautious. One misstep could ruin it all, one misstep could see her in an early grave.


	4. The Blue Eyed Mistress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor comes back to the brothel for round two, and winds up bumping into an irresistible pair of eyes.

#  **Chapter 4: The Blue Eyed Mistress**

 

##  **Sandor**

 

There were no mirrors in the room where Sandor Clegane was staying in Planky Town, and that was all the better. He knew he was difficult to look upon and didn’t need a constant reminder hanging over his washbasin. Sandor was a simple man of simple tastes, except when it came to women. More accurately, when it came to  _ her _ . Since he’d left the cesspool of King’s Landing during the Battle of the Blackwater, there hadn’t been a woman, a bottle or a fight that could get her out of his mind. He was in love with her, in love with the red headed, Tully blue-eyed girl from Winterfell. He was in love with Sansa Stark.

 

_ ‘The girl is probably dead.’ _ That much seemed to be clear, or she was hiding. 

 

In all his travels in Westeros and beyond, he had not heard tell of the girl, until recently. The last credible thing he knew was that she had been clever enough to escape the Lannisters after the death of that cunt for a King Joffrey. Just the thought of that little piece of shit made Sandor’s blood boil. No one had twisted his arm to do the deeds he did for the boy King, but that didn’t make them right either. 

 

Sandor had spent the last three years as a mercenary across the narrow sea, feeding his need to kill and subsequently his need to forget her. During his time with the Lannisters he had amassed quite a reputation throughout Westeros, but it was nothing compared to how he had fought on Essos. They called him the Punisher, the Westerosi Juggernaut for there was not a man, woman or beast that frightened him. Whether putting down slave rebellions or taking on a Dothraki horde, Sandor had shown no mercy.  He’d amassed quite a sum of money for his troubles and decided he needed to return, but to what he was not sure. 

 

Following a tip from a buddy of his in the Second Sons, who frequented Dorne, he had ended up here in Planky Town. Perhaps it was nothing, foolish even to think that she’d be hiding out here. But his friend did say that he’d seen a woman partially fitting his description, tall, white skinned, blue eyes, the deepest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Only her hair had been dark, not the bronze colored red that he had told his buddy of. Sandor ran his fingers through his hair before bunching it up in a knot behind his neck. He’d walked the city all day and not seen a girl like this, not one so beautiful as she, and not one with eyes so blue. He’d give it one more day, then he would move on, try his luck somewhere else. If she were smart, she’d not be staying in one place very long anyway.

 

Sandor sighed, then pulled up his leather britches to his waist and tied them. His linen tunic came over his head shortly thereafter and he rubbed his chest with some spicy perfume. If he couldn't look pretty, at least he could smell good for tonight. The whore house he had chosen to indulge in last night had been great, a redhead passable for Sansa. Whether she was keen to see him again tonight or not, he could not say, only that she would serve his carnal urges enough for his brief stay here. 

 

Stepping out of the Inn, Sandor inhaled the crisp night air and made his way toward the brothel on the hill. It amazed him how orderly Planky Town was for a port town and merchant’s city.  _ ‘It would suit her here.’ _ He thought to himself,  _ ‘With all the silks and jewelry money could buy, but without the fuss of a big city.’  _

 

Nodding only briefly to the guards at the door, Sandor let himself in the busy brothel. The night was young but the debauchery had already begun. The sweet moans of women being fucked, the sound of skin slapping on skin, would give anyone man or woman cause to become aroused. He looked around the dimly lit entry, colored lanterns giving the room a soft yet warm glow. Sandor was looking for his girl, Magda was her name. 

 

“Well hello there stud.” Came a playful voice from behind him. There she was, barely dressed and holding a flagon of wine. “Back for more?”

 

“You ready for more woman?” It was a question he meant in ernest, as he’d quite literally fucked the Seven out of her the night before. The fact that she was still walking impressed him.

 

Smiling broadly she took him by the hand and lead him through the house. It was a beautiful place, erotic paintings hung from the walls and there was a little sex corner in every room if you just couldn't help yourself. The pool in the courtyard offered a reprieve from the heat, it was one of the nicer establishments he had ever been to. 

 

Some commotion across the room halted their progress as both he and Magda shifted their focus. A woman was yelling at some sort of entitled Dornish twat, his silks indicating he had quite a bit more money than sense. 

 

He had the woman by the arm and she said to him in a heavily common tongue accented Dornish, “Unhand me, I’m not for sale.”

 

The man backed down, seeing the disapproving stares of the male prostitutes in the same common space. This woman was surly the Mistress of this establishment, judging by her dress and her words. Taking some moments to observe her Sandor couldn’t help but feel like he knew her. Something about her movements and the way she commanded the room gave him a funny feeling of dejavu. The tall and light skinned woman wore her long black hair in a braid down her back, her deep blue silks were expensive and more modest than those of the female prostitutes in the house. Though modest was a relative term, given the openness of the front of her gown and the side breast that peeked out from her silks invitingly. It was only by chance that she turned her head toward Sandor, her Dornish veil covering the bottom half of her face from view but in so doing, drawing all of his attention to her eyes. They were the deepest blue he had ever seen, perhaps even a Tully blue. The gentle dilation of her pupils, so difficult to see from where he stood, signaled to Sandor that she knew him. That she hadn’t just looked at him as a patron but it was almost a look of recognition that flashed across her beautiful exposed face before he was tugged along to the room Magda has prepared for him. He held the mystery woman in his eyes until he could no longer see her, turning his attentions once again to the voluptuous redhead in front of him. 

 

Sandor knew the drill, he put a purse of gold on the table next to her bed and waited for her to eye it. In the meantime, he was eyeing her, his manhood hardening. He was in no mood to play around tonight, he wanted his fill and the sooner the better.

 

“Who was that woman?” He asked Magda casually as she counted the gold from his purse. 

 

“Why whoever are you talking about dearest?” She answered, her eyes still counting. 

 

“Don’t play dumb with me.” He growled, that turned her head to listen. “The woman in the veil, who is she?”

 

There was a certain code among whores, things they could talk about and things they could not. The look she gave him made it clear that this was not a topic for discussion. “She’s our Mistress and she’s not for sale.” The redhead said, putting the purse down and sliding herself on Sandor’s lap, “Now tell me what you want big man.”

 

The Hound took a breast in each hand and squeezed them gently, getting a sense for their fullness. He bit his bottom lip, “Well Sansa,” he waited to make sure she was playing along, “get on your knees and I’ll show you.”

 

Then there was a knock at the door, it opened and a tall, thin nude and rather pretty blonde woman came in. Sandor could see she was a little nervous, most women were when the looked at him the first time. Then somehow she won back her nerve, “The Mistress sends me...with her compliments.”

 

Sandor narrowed his eyes a moment. Nothing in this life came for free, there was always a payoff but usually it was clear. Something in his gut was screaming at him, telling him something wasn’t quite right. But sometimes you had to play along to see what that something wrong was. And, who was he to pass up two beautiful women for the price of one.

 

He motioned her to kneel next to Magda. “She could be Cersei.” Magda said teasingly of her new friend seated next to her.

 

The Hound grabbed Magda by the jawline roughly, “No. I always hated that bitch.” Then smirking let her face loose. “You’ll both be Sansa.” With that he untied his the laces of his pants, allowing his half-hard manhood to spill out to the women in front of him. 

 

Magda had clearly been looking forward to his return, and she pawed at his cock with a hunger that made him feel better about spending good money on her. The blonde looked slightly overwhelmed by the situation, so he guided her head to his balls then leaned his head back to enjoy. 

 

As the intensity increased so did his fantasy, “That’s right Sansa. Suck me and tell me you want me.”

 

The girls began to moan his name, though it was almost unrecognizable given the task he had put them to. But he enjoyed the feeling of two mouths and four hands intensely. 

 

“Yes! I’m gonna come all over your pretty faces, then I’m gonna fuck you both until you can’t scream anymore.”

 

Sandor was close, the way the girls were rubbing and playing with him were going to make quick work of him. Then he heard a shuffling noise and turned his head to the wall across from the bed, he could see an eye behind a small hole in the wall. A blue eye if he wasn’t mistaken, a little spy looking in on his pleasure. 

 

_ ‘The Mistress.’  _ he knew for sure it was her, though the eye had vanished as soon as he had glanced her way. 

 

_ ‘What the fuck could she want from me?’ _ he didn’t have too much time to think now, his mind clouding with the joy of imminent release.

 

* * *

 

##  **Alayne**

 

His eyes had flashed so quickly to her, that Alayne had pushed away from the wall and was now sitting on the floor in the dark observing hall of the brothel. It had sent a jolt through her body, making her fingers shake slightly. Every whore house had such a room, it provided a thrill to the owners as well as a way to make sure you kept dirt on all your high class patrons. Her heart was beating out of her chest, and her mind was racing. It had been him, she had heard his voice, seen his face and knew it was unmistakably the Hound. 

 

A part of her had been afraid he’d been there to do her ill, murder or kidnap her for ransom. But this seemed rather fanciful after she’d seen the way his eyes had held Magda, how he burned with a forbidden desire fulfilled only in a place of pleasure. 

 

_ ‘He wants me,’ _ she sighed,  _ ‘but what will he do when he gets me?’ _

 

She’d sent the new girl in to make him more amenable to coming back tomorrow, and to give him a message after their roll in the hay. Alayne didn’t have much time and couldn’t trust anybody else to not be suspicious at her request. She sat on the floor of the observation room her face in her hands, hearing everything going on in there, from his first peak, to the two women pleasuring themselves to the two women screaming out in pleasure few whores could attest to. If she was going to go through with this, with asking him to take her home or at the very least away from here, she was going to have to be prepared to give herself to him completely. It was clear there was no half way with the Hound, it was all or nothing. 

 

Alayne would not wait for him to finish, she had heard enough to know what he desired of her and to know he had no intention of hurting her. She smoothed her silks, fixed her veil back to her face and went back out into the house. She would have to make sure she was ready for tomorrow, know how she wanted to talk to him, play her cards just right to get what she wanted.

 


	5. Meetings of a Clandestine Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor accepts a meeting with the blue-eyed Mistress and gets the surprise of his life.

#  Chapter 5: Meetings of a Clandestine Nature

 

##  Alayne

 

The tightness in her chest was only getting worse as the day went on, but she had to have perfect execution. Alayne had done all that was expected of her that day. She had gotten up early, counted the money, divided the money, had her normal chats with her small brothel family and went about the day as if nothing were amiss. It was imperative that nobody suspect anything, lest word of this get back to her father. She had no way of knowing how Sandor Clegane would react if he met her, had no way of knowing if he would gladly spirit her away or laugh in her face. So she needed to be careful and she needed things to go as planned.

 

She started with Erios, coming to him as dusk was falling and telling him that she had fallen ill. Alayne had asked if he would run the brothel for the night, he had hugged her tight and shewed her off to bed. The thought of possibly never seeing him again hurt her, made her emotional at a time when she should not be. So she hugged him back, doing her best to shield her face from him and scuttled off as per his wishes. She would take her father’s room, as it was more comfortable than her own and more private. As her father always said, his room was the only room in the house where you could do whatever your heart desired and not be caught. She hoped he was right. 

 

Her servants brought scalding hot water from the kitchens and filled the copper tub almost to the brim, then bowing silently left her there alone in her father’s opulent but empty room. The water would have to cool a moment, so Alayne sat in front of her father’s vanity and slowly unbraded her long hair, letting her black locks cascade over her shoulders. She hoped he came, hoped that Clegane would be intrigued by her offer and meet her in private. She had paid a mercenary to wait in the alley and to show him through the secret passage that lead to the her father’s bedroom. Tonight, for the first time in three years, she would say goodbye to Alayne Stone, hopefully for good. It was a bittersweet moment as she stared at the young woman in front of her. She had learned so much from Alayne, envied her strength and admired her cunning. 

 

_ ‘How will I be when I am me?’ _ she wondered, not having thought about Sansa Stark until a few days earlier, when a mysterious Westerosi entered her brothel and asked for a redheaded woman. 

 

She laughed mirthlessly as she considered how much Lord Baelish had imposed he will upon her. How much he had wanted her to forget who she was entirely, and be his in mind, body and soul. He had made a miscalculation. Alayne bit her bottom lip as she pondered the possibilities of tonight, hoping she had not miscalculated in her own right. Whatever happened she would have exposed herself to danger, both her and her father. Her life would change after this and she needed to be sure she was ready. Anything would be better than marrying Roose Bolton, even death. 

 

She walked over to the tub, which was behind a a dornish silk screen in the room. The candles there cast a warm soft light along the copper. It cast the perfect silhouette of her across the screen. She smiled.  Alayne stepped in gingerly, giving her body time to adjust to the heat. Once fully in, she inhaled deeply and laid her head back. Running her hands through her hair she watched the henna come out, turning the water a blackish color. 

* * *

##  Sandor

 

Something wasn’t quite right about this evening, but it didn’t stop Sandor from waiting in an alleyway two blocks from the brothel. He was never requested by a brothel mistress to see her privately, never sent an extra treat for the evening, and this aroused his suspicions. Sandor fingered the hilt of his dagger hidden under his jerkin and leaned against a wall, waiting for something to happen. 

 

The shuffling of footsteps in the alley made him turn his gaze. A Dornish man made his way toward him, dressed in the typical Dornish fashion...like a woman. The man looked him over only briefly as if to confirm his identity and motioned Sandor to follow him. They weaved through the alley, past fruit sellers, silk traders and toothless whores until they came to a plain blue door. The Dornish man took a key from his belt and opened it, motioning Sandor go inside. 

 

“No.” Sandor said making a negative motion with his hands, then pointing to his guide and next to the door, “You first.” He wasn’t sure if the man understood the common tongue or not, and wouldn’t take any chances.

 

The man smiled, understanding Sandor’s apprehension about going first and entered through the door. After locking it, the man motioned him through a wine cellar, into a wine making barn and then finally, after about ten minutes to a wall. Sandor was sure they had made their way back to the brothel, but where exactly he could not have been sure. It had been convoluted , mixed around and hidden, but he was sure he was there. The Dornish man pushed away some dirt from the floor and searched with his hand under the wall at its seam with the floor. There was a click, and the wall moved. The man smiled a toothy grin at Sandor and motioned him go inside. This time Sandor didn’t hesitate, he had the feeling they had reached their destination.

 

The wall closed behind him once he had passed the threshold, his guide had not continued. Sandor’s eyes adjusted to the room, the smell of lavender rushed into his nostrils. There was a silk curtain ahead of him, Sandor brushed it back, revealing a beautiful room done up with all of the lavish comforts one would find at the Red Keep in King’s Landing. There was a table with flowers and wine with two glasses ahead of him. Beautiful wooden Dornish windows with an inviting bed to his left and to his right, a silk screen, the projection of a bathtub with a woman’s legs hanging out the end. 

 

“You can put the weapon in the drawer, I assure you it won’t be needed.” Came the voice from behind the screen. He could hear the water lap against the tub, see the shift of her legs silhouetted against the silk.

 

“You’re not Magda.” Sandor said sarcastically, putting the dagger in the drawer, wondering what the woman would say. 

 

“She’s off tonight, and besides, I would hate for you to tire of her.” There was a confidence in her voice and a playfulness that made Sandor’s ears perk up. 

 

He smirked to himself, made his way to the table and poured two glasses of wine. He took in the view of the screen, anticipation building at the thought of a beautiful naked woman on the other side, curious as to how this was going to play out.

 

“I don’t really have a thing for black haired women though Mistress, I prefer redheads.” Sandor took a sip of wine and watched the screen, trying to agitate the situation. To put her on edge would be to have her reveal the reason for this meeting.

 

Instead, the woman stood slowly in the tub, her beautifully curved body projected perfectly on the screen. He could hear the water fall from her body, see her squeeze water from her long hair. She took her time before she responded.

 

“Well I hope you won’t be disappointed then.” Her tone was flat, with no indication that he would at all be disappointed.

 

Sandor watched her step out of the tub, grabbing a robe from a hook and wrapping it around her body. Her tease had been good, for he moved from his relaxed position on his chair to the edge of his seat. 

 

“What do I call you then?” He asked, watching her arms make some tieing motions around her waist.

 

“I guess you could call me what you call all the others.” She said, rounding the screen.

 

Sandor blinked several times to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. He cocked his head to the side as he took in the sight of the woman, who had stepped out from behind the screen. Her eyes were the same as he had seen in the brothel the day before, the deepest blue in all of Westeros. Though her hair was wet, he could see she was not dark haired at all, but a full bronze redhead. Then when he peered closer he recognized her face, it had changed with the years but still held the same beauty it had as she was a child. There was no way to understand the feelings going through his head, the surprise that went through his body at the sight of her. It was Sansa, of that he had no doubt.

 

“How the fuck did you end up in a Dornish whore house Little Bird?” Were the only words he could muster. He was really curious, he had not intended to find her here, not in his wildest dreams.

 

“I could ask you the same question.” She said with a smile, her silk robe clinging to her wet body, leaving nothing to the imagination. She approached him slowly, seating herself across from him at the table.  

 

He snorted, taking a gulp of wine to avoid her question. She knew damn well why he was here, why a man would frequent a brothel. There was no need to explain it to her.

 

She sat down gracefully, taking the glass he had poured in her hand, “Well if there is one thing we can both agree on, it’s that Lord Baelish does know how to run a good whore house.”

 

At that admission he brought is glass before her and they toasted. She continued, “I’ve been living here as his daughter for the last two years. Learning certain...things that I didn’t know before.”

 

Sandor’s mind filled with all the things one could learn in a brothel, his thoughts spinning with all the things she could do to him and all the pleasures he could give her. Though the way she talked, he was sure she was playing with her words, referring more to life lessons than sexual ones.

 

“It looks like another golden cage to me.” Sandor said his eye roving the woman in front of him. He was updating his vision of her in his mind. As he had left King’s Landing she had been younger, a girl on the cusp of womanhood. Now she was different, confident, mature and in every imaginable way a woman. 

 

“It’s more than that.” She said, looking him in the eye. “It’s a holding cell. He plans to marry me off to the most suitable ally. It seems as though the murderer of mother and Robb will be the most likely candidate. He is on his way to meet Roose Bolton as we speak. He intends to finalize the deal.” Sandor could see her eyes searching his, trying to find a emotion.

 

Of course it was a disgusting thought, Sandor knew Littlefinger as no friend of his. The fact that she had lived so closely with him for so long, angered him or more accurately enraged him. “So you finally decided I’m good enough to run away with? That the monster isn’t so bad after all.” He spat, pouring himself more wine, the sting of her rejection still painful.

 

Sadness filled her face at his words, but her eyes never wavered from his. “I was a child Sandor, and I was scared and stupid. I didn’t know that real monsters wore finary and spoke beautiful words. That they came to you in the guise of a friend.” 

 

She waited, trying to judge whether he was in agreement with her assessment or not. Seeing no obvious anger in his features, she continued. “I asked you here tonight, knowing there was no guarantee of anything. I asked you here because I think we can both provide the other with something the other wants.” Her blue eyes were hard but hopeful, Sandor couldn’t help but watch them even though the lower half of his body begged he look lower.

 

Knocking back another glass of wine he laughed, “And what might that be Little Bird?” Somehow he knew what was coming, knew what she would say next but didn’t want to accept it. For what she would suggest next would be what he wanted, but it would make a harsh reality true. It would start them down a path of which neither would be sure of the true consequences.

 

She brought a hand to his wrist, which was on the table, she looked into his eyes. “I want freedom. I will not marry Roose Bolton nor anybody else that Lord Baelish has in mind for me.” 

 

Sansa paused, trying to see if he was in agreement with her. Seeing his look was impassive, she moved on. “I know you want me Sandor, I’ve seen your fantasies played out here in this house. I could give you that in exchange for freedom. Jon amasses an army headed for Winterfell, we could join him...together.”

 

Sandor wetted his lips subconsciously as she stood up from the chair, dropping her silk robe to the floor. It was hard not to loose it, not to give in to what she wanted from him. If she was one thing, it was a shrewd negotiator. Sansa was everything he had imagined for himself and more. Tall and slender, athletic in her build but with womanly hips and breasts. A tuft of red hair covered her most intimate parts, freckles danced across her chest. She was his dream come true, he could not have created a more perfect woman for himself...yet…

 

“To survive out there, we’ll be together all the time.” He began, “It’s not going to be all feather beds and silks...it’s going to be the ground and dirt..all those things. It’s also not that easy to find an army, we might find your bastard brother and we may not depending on our luck.”  

 

Sandor could just kick himself for not getting to the point. He was focusing more on steading his voice and his traitorous cock, than his words. He shook his head and then started again, “Any man would be stupid to say no to you, if he were in my place.” 

 

His eyes looked at her, wanting nothing more than for his hands to touch her. “You are offering me a contract, sex for protection. In truth I need to know that you…, that you are willing to…” Something inside him could not bring him to finish his sentence. 

 

He was still sitting in his chair, so when she bridged the gap between them she was looking down at him. His face in her hand, his eyes were breast level. She tipped his chin up so he could see her face, “If I were truly Lord Baelish’s daughter, I would speak of how I’ve pined for you all these years. How I couldn’t live without you, how I wanted you to take me away with you now.” 

 

Sansa paused, looking into his eyes. “But in truth I am not his daughter.” She took Sandor’s face in her hand, “It wasn’t until I heard tell of the ‘Westerosi Knight’ screaming my name in sexual pleasure did my mind come back to you. I thought you hated me in King’s Landing, that you wanted nothing more than for me to be out of sight and out of mind.”

 

Sandor’s forehead wrinkled at this admission. He could find no fault in it, but it could not have been further from the truth. She continued, “But I have not been able to stop thinking of you since I heard that and I knew you were here.”

 

He considered her words a moment, keeping her bare flesh in his vision. There was no point in hiding his feelings for her, if she had been listening to his exploits then she already had a good idea of how he felt about her, of how much he wanted her. His cards were on the table, yet perhaps not his true intentions. Sandor ran a finger down her body, then stood up to his full height, no more than two inches between them.

 

“I need to know that you are in this for more than an escape. Do you want me for me? Or do you want me for my sword?” It was the only way he could say it and have her understand  what he wanted from her, what he truly desired.

 

She stared at him a moment longer, her eyes shifting up to meet his. “I can’t say that I know what love is, or that I have experienced it. Every person outside of my family sought to use and manipulate me for their own gain.” There was a tear in her eye that caught Sandor’s attention, a sign of the pain she felt inside.

 

She continued, “What I do know is that I would rather ride rough through Westeros with a man who looks at me the way you did in King’s Landing, as you do now. That I want to share my days with a man who is brave and fair, who wants me for me and nothing more.” 

 

Sansa took his hand and put it to her heart, “I yearn to give myself to a man like you Sandor. I cannot tell you if I can love you, but if after tonight there is no passion between us, then you can be on your way without the burden of me.”

 

There was no doubt in his mind what Sansa meant. This clandestine meeting was dangerous, it exposed her. If he left tonight unwilling to take her with him, he could easily sell this information to the highest bidder, putting her in mortal peril. She was taking a big risk.

 

His voice was low and gruff, the feeling of arousal and excitement that coursed through him almost palatable in the air, “Well, you can start by kissing me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers to all those enjoying this fic as much as I do. It's a funny little AU and just jumped out at me one day some months ago. Kisses!


	6. Unknown Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor test out their passion to find truths neither one of them could have anticipated.

#  Chapter 6:  Unknown Truths

##  Sansa

 

Sandor’s words moved something in her that was hard to explain. Sansa rolled up on her toes and brought her lips to his, beginning a gentle kiss that quickly became impassioned as his strong arms wrapped around her body. He was so different from Lord Baelish, there was a spiciness to his smell, and a softness to his tongue that she had not anticipated. If one could communicate raw desire through their lips, Sandor had succeeded. There was a reckless abandon in his kiss, his mouth made for a skillful lover. The warm soft muscle of his tongue sliding deftly into her mouth, feeling for her own and exploring it.

 

Sandor lifted her as if she were nothing, her arms around his neck and his around her body. He was shaking slightly and she wasn’t sure if it was from nervousness, arousal or both. What she did know was that it was honest and raw, something she would have never received from her so called father, or any Lord for that matter. Sansa yelped as he cleared the table of the flowers, wine and glasses with one quick movement of his arm, the contents of the table crashing to the floor, her back now against the hardwood. His right hand was behind her head, gripping her hair and cushioning her from smacking back into the table. His left hand pushed her pelvis deeper into his own as he leaned over her on the table, his lips never leaving her own. 

 

There was an increased intensity to his kissing now, a heightened awareness as she moaned loudly at the sheer over encompassing nature of it all. Instinctively she brought her legs around his tapered waist and crossed her ankles behind him, locking them together in a heated embrace. Her hands made their way down his chest, the feeling of his muscles enticing even though his clothing. Sansa did her best to fiddle with the lacing of his jerkin, her mouth still tangled with Sandor’s. Realizing what she was doing he lifted his body from hers, standing now with his thighs against the table’s edge. There was a hungry look in his eye one clouded by lust, as he unlaced his jerkin and pulled it with his tunic over his head at the same time. 

 

They were taking stock of one another now, Sansa realized. His eyes taking in her body and hers taking in his. The depictions of the Warrior, nearly nude with his weapon in hand, were nothing compared to what she saw before her. Sandor might as well have been chiseled from stone the way every muscle and every sinew of that muscle was visible in the dim candle light. His chest was covered in short, well kept curly hair, it made her think of home, gave Sansa a sense of familiarity. He was gorgeous in his own right, strong, imposing, fit and looking at her as if she were some kind of angel. 

 

It struck her only then how vulnerable he looked. His grey eyes grazing over her in with a sort of measured caution that she had not seen before. Sandors chest heaved, his arms at his sides just staring at her, wondering if he was good enough for her, if she would desire him in the same way he desired her. It was this that made her sit up on the table, her legs now hanging over the edge, her hands reaching toward his face. 

 

“I swear never to take my eyes away from you.” Her promise hung heavy in the air, his expressionless face assessing the truthfulness of her words. 

 

“See that you don’t.” His warning filled the room with a tension far more alluring than the sexual tension already built there. 

 

Sandor took her by the wrist and lead her to Lord Baelish’s large bed. Whipping her around to face him, he sat down on its edge and took a pillow and put it on the floor between his feet. Sansa knew what he wanted, it was how he always started his fantasy. He enjoyed being pleasured orally that much had been clear from his previous sessions at the brothel. But she detected something more, an uneasiness in his demeanor. As if he were afraid this was all a show, that she herself was playing the part of a whore, doing her duty and nothing more. She would need to show him her commitment, her willingness to be with him. 

 

Sansa knelt on the pillow, her blue eyes never leaving his grey ones. She removed his boots slowly, preparing herself for what was to come. She was a maid after all, had only ever seen oral pleasure being given, had only ever heard her friends talk about techniques and tricks. It was an academic understanding at best and it made her nervous. 

 

She could tell he detected this, as his head cocked to the side. Sansa ran her hands from his knees to his muscular inner thighs, then to the laces of his trousers. He was already straining against the leather, and she shuddered feeling how solid he was though his garments. She kept her eyes on him, unlacing his trousers slowly and watching him breath harder as her fingers brushed across his manhood. Once the laces were open enough the weight of his cock pushed the rest of the laces down, spilling out in front of her. She jumped at this, shifting her eyes between Sandor’s legs. She heard him snort in amusement, then saw him lift slightly from the bed so she could remove his pants completely.

 

To say his cock looked big from afar was one thing, to see it up close was completely different. Magda had not been lying when she said it was huge, nor had she overstated how nice it was. Darker than the rest of his body, it was engorged to the point where she could barely fit her hand around it, though when she did she could hear him groan in approval. His skin there was soft and smooth, the only bit of flesh on him that was scared, disfigured or worn by the sun. She put her second hand to his balls, feeling the light dusting of hair there and gently massaged them. Sansa had watched others do this before and had seen it brought a man great pleasure. So as she stroked his length with one hand and his balls in the other, she looked at him to see if he was pleased too. He put his hand over hers to tighten it more around his shaft, then he leaned his head back and allowed a moan to escape his lips. 

 

She smiled, satisfied with her first moments of success. Then Sansa very tentatively put her lips to the head of his cock and heard an even darker more guttural moan. He tasted salty and spicy, even a bit musky as she put the tip of her tongue on him first and slowly did her best to fit his head in her mouth. He’d begun to thrust gently into her mouth, urging her to put him deeper inside. There was something about it she couldn’t explain, something about the moment that sent arousal through her body. Sansa enjoyed it, it made her feel in control, powerful and extremely sexy. She could feel wetness collecting at the apex of her thighs and took the hand she was using to manipulate his balls and began rubbing herself. It only heightened the experience, the ability to pleasure both Sandor and herself at the same time.

 

Noticing a change in her tactics Sandor’s eyes snapped open and he looked at her, one hand wrapped around his length, his bulging head in her mouth...her free hand shamelessly playing with herself. He took her chin in his hand and made sure their eyes met. Sansa couldn’t say what was in his eyes, but it looked to her like surprise and utter relief. Relief that she wasn’t disgusted by him, surprise that in addition to doing as she was bid she was priming herself for him. Her eyes still on him, she continued pumping him with her hand, finding a good rhythm both her mouth and hand could manage in unison.

 

There was an utter bliss that stayed for several moments before his breaths began to get raggad. Something was happening, she could feel him stiffen more and the movements of his hips became less consistent. Quickly he shifted taking one of his massive hands to her shoulder and quickly grabbing his cock from her mouth. 

 

“Fuck Sansa…uhhhh,” were the only words to come to his lips as he spilled his seed over her breasts. It was warm, thick and well quite a lot. He had made sure to cover her entire chest and watch with what could only be considered male pride as it ran down her breasts and to her stomach. 

 

He was heaving as if he were out of breath, a lust in his eyes she had not seen before. Sandor’s slight convolusions continued as he milked the last bit of his seed from his body. Sansa looked down at her chest, at the mess he had made there, then back to him. She could tell he enjoyed seeing her covered in his come, that it was his way of marking his mate, a naughty little fetish he enjoyed. She would not wipe it off, she knew better from his previous visits to the brothel, that this would annoy him. But she wasn’t going to just let him serve out his little fantasy with her, no. She was going to make this something unique, something he had not played out before.

 

* * *

 

 

##  Sandor

 

Sandor could only liken himself to a dog that had chased the same rabbit everyday, then didn’t know what to do with it when he finally caught it. As many times as he had imagined to himself what it would be like to touch her, see her, kiss her this was so much better than his mind was capable of imagining. Sansa was the vision of the naughty Maiden, her long red hair framing a rather innocent looking face. Then there was this cheeky grin across her lips and his seed spilled all over her that made her something so sexy, so unattainable, that he was sure he’d be ready for a second round almost instantly. 

 

He could have sat there on the edge of the bed and watched her for much longer, but then she rose from her kneeling position, choosing to straddle him, her chest now firmly against his. He couldn’t help but smile as this was nothing like what he had played out with the girls over the last several nights. It was nothing like he had fantasized about with her at all, and he liked it. Sandor nuzzled her neck and kissed her clavicle, paying no mind to his own juices now covering both their bodies. He wanted to see where she was going with this, curious as to what she had in that naughty mind of hers.

 

“Tell me you want me Sansa Stark, if it be true then say it.” Sandor needed to know, wanted it so much to be true. 

 

She sat back on his knees, placing a small hand gently on his chest and looking him straight in the eye giggled, “Oh I want you Sandor Clegane.” She brought his hand between her legs, where he could feel the wetness that had collected there. 

 

All these years and he had never imagined that the demure redheaded maid from Winterfell could be so wet for him. She’d always been afraid of him, on their journey to King’s Landing, while at court, she had rarely looked at him. Only after he had saved her from the men during the riot in King’s Landing did she dare to look upon his face, dare to speak to him at all. All these years and he was sure she thought him a monster, not worthy of anything more than the heel of her boot.

 

Though he didn’t have time to ponder this long for the gentle hand she had placed on his chest was now pushing him toward the bed, a smug little grin on his angel’s face. In such surprise that she would want to continue this sexual trist, Sandor could only comply, laying back on the bed his feet still on the floor. 

 

She had a devilish grin when she bent down to whisper something in his ear, “Not even a man like you can regenerate so quickly. So we’ll have to make due.” 

 

The words played across her lips so teasingly that it took him a moment to realize that she was crawling up his body, coming to a stop with her knees on each side of his head. The view was amazing, her sweet little cut positioned only an inch or two from his mouth, her soft smooth belly leading the way to her breasts, her red hair falling around her shoulders. She was a sight, he could already feel himself start to stiffen again, but there was also no reason to rush to his second release.

 

There was an element of authority in her voice, one that was expected of a woman of her station, she gripped his hair in one hand, pulling tight enough that he could feel the blood circulation increasing there too. “Well get to work then.” 

 

Sandor pursed his lips together and grunted in amusement, this was definitely not what he had envisioned sex with her to be like, and he was certainly not complaining. He gripped her peachy white thighs and brought her cunt to rest on his mouth, kissing her with his lips and lapping at her with his tongue. She was sweet, her arousal thick and her enthusiasm overwhelming. The more the played with her folds, teased the little bud of nerves above her slit, the harder she rolled her hips over him. Sansa continued to grip his hair firmly bringing him a delicate pain that mixed with an overwhelming pleasure.

 

The Stranger could take him now, he had basically achieved all he’d ever wanted to in his life. There were perks of living in a whore house and they had definatly paid off for Sansa. She was every bit the beautiful high born woman she was meant to be, but with none of the preconceptions about sex that highborn women had. Sandor had fucked a few highborns in his day and had decided after a couple to leave it be, the women were nice smelling and often pretty but they never moved in bed. This was different, his little bird was riding his tongue and groaning while gripping his hair with such force that it threatened to rip from the roots.

 

He could feel her little body tensing, could see the concentration in her face as she moved over his tongue finding her own pleasure. He reached up and grabbed a breast, her eyes immediately falling to him. A smile passed her lips before she threw her head back and released all over his face and beard. He did his best to lap it up, but it was so much that he knew he wouldn’t be able to get it all. She sat back on his chest, her hands on her thighs, taking in the moment. 

 

Sandor gripped her thighs and in one swift motion had her on her back, her hair cascading over the feather bed. She gasped and swatted at his shoulder for the scare he’d given her, laughing. He pulled her body down so that he was covering her, forehead to forehead, his harden cock grazing her entrance. 

 

“I’m a maid Sandor.” She said, her eyes flickering with want, but also with a maid’s fear.

 

“There ain’t so many maids who suck cock like that.” He chuckled, “But it surely won’t hurt as much as your septa told you. Those old maids don’t know the first thing about sex.”

 

She seemed to chuckle at her own foolishness as he reached between them feeling around for the proper position at her entrance. Her eyes held so much more in them than he could have ever imagined, trust being the thing that stood out most. She was so wet it wasn’t difficult to push himself inside her, but she was so tight that he wouldn’t be able to do it in one thrust. 

 

“Oh gods.” She breathed into his ear as his cock found it’s way into her tightness. Her nails dug into his skin, her eyes never leaving his.

 

Sandor exhaled, happy it was his second erection of the evening and not his first. “Loosen up those muscles Little Bird, or I’m not gonna fit.” His voice was only just above a whisper and gruffer than he had hoped, but he saw her nod her head.

 

The moment he felt even a slight reduction in her her muscle tension he thrust again sheathing himself completely. “You feel amazing.” He found himself grunting as he rocked in and out of her. 

 

He could feel her body relaxing, slowly moving in sync with his, then after a little while he heard a moan. It was so sweet, so innocent it was almost funny given where they were. But when she started muttering his name he almost couldn’t handle it.

 

“Oh Sandor, you’re so big. Oh please more, give me more.” He put her legs around him and began slamming into her, fully sheathing himself with each stroke. Each time he would bottom out she would groan with pleasure, a flush covering her perfect skin a small layer of sweat forming. 

 

He’d been with many whores in his day, none of them had been like this. None of them had been so honest, so real and so passionate. Something in his gut told him this couldn’t be a lie, love or no love, she wanted him, desired him...wasn’t that the first stage of love?

 

She was meeting his thrusts with movements of her own, eager to learn and wanton beyond his wildest imagination. There was a friction now, a sweet deep pleasure that only two lovers could sense. Sandor could see her responding, her eyes rolling back in her head, her heated breaths, her back arching against the bed, pressing her even tighter against him. When she released a second time, he did not have the will to further contain his own. Sandor spilled deep inside her, keeping her hips in place as he emptied himself.

 

He leaned his forehead on her shoulder and kissed her there, enjoying the taste of her sweat mixed with the lavender of her bathwater. She was steadying herself, her legs and arms wrapped around him as if she didn’t dare let him go. The room was silent, only the sound of their breathing could be heard. Sandor knew this was right, there was an unknown truth to their passion, an honesty that could serve as the basis for love. 

 

“Get your things, we leave tonight.” Were his only words spoken in almost complete darkness, in a haze of love and sex that he could have never anticipated. If they didn’t act now, perhaps they never would.

 

Sansa didn’t wait, she kissed him gently across the face and vanished through a door. She must have either been anticipating a positive response or had kept a bag ready for a last minute escape as her time spent away was brief. Barely enough for him to pull on his clothing and run an unsteady hand through his hair. He was nervous, but he didn’t know why. 

 

_ ‘Is this the beginning of the rest of my life?’  _ He wondered to himself.

 

He knew a man who could get them another horse, then they would ride. They would go in search of Jon Snow and his armies. Would they get lucky? Sandor couldn’t say. All he knew was that the smile in her eyes told of a trust and a desire that few in his life had ever shown him. He would love her as long as she’d let him, protect her until his death. Sansa squeezed his hand, which shook him from his musings. Sandor nodded and they escaped out the secret door, leaving the brothel on the hill far behind them.


	7. Epilogue: Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sansdor's life together changes with a simple knock at the door.

#  Epilogue: Visitors

 

**Sansa**

 

**3 years later….**

 

The sun had begun to set and Sansa leaned against the fence of the little house she shared with Sandor and enjoyed watching the beautiful colors change. She crossed her arms across her body and thanked the gods for the day they had been given, the warm sun continuing to allow the vegetables to grow in their small garden. They had never found her brother Jon after they set out from Dorne, though their search had lasted over a year. Both Sandor and Sansa had become tired and were no longer in the mood to chase after ghosts. So when they happened upon this small empty farmhouse in the Riverlands, they pounced on the opportunity to change their luck. It had been empty for a while, cobwebs and wild animals had taken up residence there while the owner had probably perished in a war not of their own design.

 

So they had decided to make a home there, and live their lives as peasants. It had been hard at first for Sansa to adjust, not knowing anything about how to run a farm or how to fend for herself. Sandor had been patient with her, taught her all the things she needed to know to be a good peasant woman. Not that they hadn’t laughed a lot in this time, or threw their hands up in defeat when their small crops had failed the first year. Luckily Sansa’s needlework had become known in the small village nearby, half a day’s ride away. She was able to earn some small money with that and making dresses for special events. Sandor had also become known for his hunting dogs, selling the pups at the market when they were of age. 

 

Sansa was always sure when they went to town to send a few letters in different directions addressed to Jon. She wrote in a way they had as children, a kind of code that only the Stark children had understood. She would tell of where she was and what she was doing, then send three copies of this letter off with merchants going in different directions. Her instructions were simple, if you come across a military encampment marching on Winterfell to give the letter to Jon Snow. It had been two years of this, and she had heard nothing. Yet she persisted, never losing the hope that they would eventually see one another again.

 

Sandor and Sansa lead a happy existence, one rooted in what she could only describe as love. Before they had left Dorne together Sansa could not have said whether she knew what actual romantic love truly was. Never having experienced it herself and not trusting her own instincts to seek it out. Sandor had changed that, he had changed everything in her life and always for the better. Even when she miscarried twice over the last year, Sandor had done everything he could to help her. Took her to the wise woman of the village, made her as comfortable as he could in their humble home, reminded her that a child was only a gift if the mother survived. This had stilled her horrible sorrow, comforted her in a time where she would have given anything, including her own life to give him a child. 

 

But now, as she leaned against the fence with a smile on her face and held her slightly swollen belly, she did not have the heart to tell him. She would wait a couple more weeks, make sure four moons had passed before getting his hopes up. This time his seed and quickened in her womb and had stayed longer than before, the feelings of fear and joy mixed as she watched the beautifully changing colors of the sun. 

 

The sound of hacking and grunting was coming from the barn, in the silence of the impending dusk she could hear Sandor more clearly now than before. He was practicing with his weapons, fighting his straw men in the barn. Sansa couldn’t help but tease him, that if there were to be a straw man uprising that they would be the first ones to be attacked. As he had fought them so relentlessly for so long. He would pull her close, a smile on his face and remind her that he trained for her, to keep her safe. Always weary of Littlefinger’s assassins, Sandor kept his skills honed even more than when he was a mercenary. Who was Sansa to complain? She had never seen him so fit and strong as now, never so imposing. 

 

He was walking up the path to the house now, she could see his sweaty matted hair from where she stood at the fence, his sword slung over his shoulder. When he reached the fence he leaned in to kiss her.

 

“If you think you are even getting close to me in those sweaty clothes, you had better think again.” She teased, looking down at the bucket of water she had prepared for him, a small bit of soap in the water.

 

A cheeky grin on his face, he dropped his sword to the ground and began to take off his clothes. She would never grow tired of seeing him naked, it thrilled her even now after all of these years. Of course her attempts to help him clean himself slowly devolved into kissing, which quickly turned into him pulling up her skirts and taking her against the fence. Yes, everything was right in the world and Sansa had no need for anything else.

 

Unbeknownst to Sansa, this night would be different from the many nights she had shared with Sandor in their home. They were snuggled up in the dead of night, asleep in their one roomed house when the dogs started barking strangely. It had roused them from their sleep, put them on edge. Then a loud knock came at the door, sending shockwaves through her.

 

Sandor shot up at once grabbing his sword. Without saying a word he motioned for her to get her things. Their plan had always been clear, discussed from the beginning. Should something happen at the house she was to take this small bag of supplies, take their horse and ride for the Westerlands. He would find her there, if he survived that was.

 

Sansa’s stomach clenched, fear ran through her body as she dressed quickly and grabbed the bag, waiting on Sandor to open the door. He didn’t even bother dressing, as naked as his name day, he stood from the bed and slowly went to the door. 

 

A second loud knock came from the door and he drew his sword silently. Sansa couldn’t help but feel tears spill forth from her eyes, she was not ready to part from him, her love and her protector. Sandor opened the door, but she could see nothing from where she hid near the back door of the cottage, ready to bolt on his signal. The seconds that passed seemed like hours as she waited for him.

 

“Sansa, you’d better come over here.” He said, his voice calm.

 

Still apprehensive as to the situation, Sansa breathed a sigh of slight relief and made her way to the door. Sandor was so massive his naked body took up the doorway, giving her no chance of being able to look around him. Eventually rounding his body she poked her head through the door to see who on earth would come calling in the dead of night. What she saw would be beyond her wildest expectations.

 

“Jon?” The question sounded so stupid when it was obviously her half brother. The look of shock on both his and the faces of his generals, who stood around the front door of the cottage, was a clear indication that they had not expected to find what they found there either.

 

Sansa and Jon  embraced, and she now found herself crying for joy and not fear. Jon hugged her back, happy she was in good condition, but walked her over a bit away from the cottage.

 

“Sansa is he hurting you?” Jon was dead serious as he asked her that question, a look of concern in his worn features. It was only at this point that Sansa understood the absurdity of the situation, Sandor having answered the front door with both his sword and his cock out.

 

She laughed, “Absolutely not.”

 

“Get used to it boy,” Sandor said from the doorway, clearly having heard the whole conversation. He was pulling up his trousers as he spoke, “That sister of yours can’t get enough of my pretty face. And my cock, she definitely can’t get enough of that.”

 

At this all the generals in Jon’s army looked from Sandor to her, then back to Sandor, a bit of jealousy in their eyes. Sansa merely threw him a slight glare, and smiled. She knew he’d press his advantage over the men, even if it was just for sport.

 

“Don’t look at me like that lads.” Sandor continued, clearly wanting to rile the men up more. “If you Northern men had told me how demanding your women are I would have thought twice before being taken to husband.” The men laughed at this, as it was so absurd that a man be taken into marriage. 

 

“You laugh you cunts, but now I know why all you Northerners are so fucking skinny. I’m glad you came to save me from her.”

 

Sansa smiled and looked at Jon, a look of shock still on his face. “It’s true what he says, we’ve been married in the eyes of the Seven, but I wanted to wait until Winterfell was ours to marry properly in the North.”

 

By this point Sandor had walked out of the house, still shirtless, and put his hand Sansa’s shoulder affectionately. “So are we going to go and win back that bloody castle she’s always talking about?”

 

At this Jon cracked a smile and held out his hand to welcome the large Westerlander into the family. They embraced as if they were familiar and it put Sansa’s heart at ease. 

 

“We’ll ride at dawn.” Jon said, taking his leave of the pair and waving his rather astonished generals from the front of the house.

 

When they were out of earshot Sandor pulled her close, “He’s got a bit of a stick up his ass, doesn’t he?”

 

Sansa grinned, “I think you just made seven highborn men feel inadequate with the simple opening of a door.” 

 

At that he laughed outright and kissed her. 

 

“It’s been over three moons.” She blurted out, knowing he would understand her cryptic sentence. 

 

Putting his large hand to her belly Sandor brought her close. “You know how I feel about this.”

 

“I know,” she said, tears of joy streaming down her face. “You want me to be healthy.”

 

Sandor kissed the top of her head as he embraced her. They stood there for several minutes, holding one another in the pale moonlight.

 

“I want to have it at Winterfell if it’s possible.” She said through her tears.

 

Sandor clutched her  tightly to him, but said nothing. They both knew the frivolity of promises, the fickleness of armies and men. They would approach the reclaiming of Winterfell from the Boltons as they had everything else, with the calm confidence that only love can bring. Sansa had not wanted to marry as she was whisked off to Dorne all those years ago, but now she understood what she had been missing. She wasn’t just any man’s wife. She was the wife of Sandor Clegane and that was worth fighting for.


End file.
